


Fata Morgana

by scratchienails



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Identity Porn, M/M, Nerf Playmaker 2019, Reality and VRAINS merging, Revsaku, Secret Identity, We say goodbye to canon at episode 3 and don't look back, specifically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-26 19:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchienails/pseuds/scratchienails
Summary: The real world and the VRAINS suddenly merge into one, and Yusaku could not have possibly picked a worse day to leave his duel disk at home.





	1. 1A

**Author's Note:**

> You can probably tell I had no idea how to tag this. And that, at this point I really am just doing whatever the hell I want with canon. Please enjoy the messy love square I am about to construct with only two characters, MLB style.

It starts with brief, momentary flashes. That first glimpse of Revolver soaring over their heads turned out to be the start, not the end, of his strange visual hallucinations. From then on, at seemingly random moments, the most mundane parts of his life suddenly surge to life. One moment he’ll be making his way home in a daze, and the next everything about how he experiences his environment changes. For barely longer than the time it took to draw a breath, he’ll be seeing with clarity so startling it has him reeling on his feet. The world will look bright, clearer than ever before, with colors cascading in front of his eyes with a vibrancy he never dreamed of before. He could sense shifts in the air, feel people moving around him, be aware and knowing in a way he’s only every experienced through his Link Sense.

No one else notices the static under their feet, the pixels slowly consuming reality. He doesn’t know how to bring it up with Kusanagi, feeling as if his already tenuous connection with reality is slipping through his fingers.

But he’s not crazy. Something is going on, either in VRAINS or the entire network.

And the AI knows something, he suspects as he sets it aside. Though he spent the whole morning trying to get any information he could out of it, it only offers up snarky words, innuendoes, and data too corrupted for even Yusaku to interpret.

By the time he has to leave for school, he’s so fed up with the stupid program locked in his duel disk that he shoves it inside the wall case and locks it in.

It whines piteously from behind the glass as he storms off, but he pays it no mind as he pockets his deck and heads out the door.

School, at least, is normal, right up until it isn’t. Like usual, he sleeps through most of the morning classes, barely acknowledging that faint, itch sensation crawling over his skin. He thinks, stupidly, that it’s nothing. And then he wakes up from his doze to yelling, instantly registering the bizarre hyper-sensitivity of yesterday. There’s a benign presence next to him before he even opens his eyes. As he raises his head, he finds himself staring across a room of unfamiliar people. Mixed among the students, with no rhyme or reason, are strange figures: animals and knights and grown women in skimpy outfits.

VRAINS avatars?

Looking to his side, Yusaku finds Shima has been replaced with an enormous man in blue armor, who is staring at his hands as if he can’t believe they’re his.

“Holy shit.” Shima—he’s sure that’s still Shima, under all that armor—mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists.

With his heart lurching against his ribcage, Yusaku glances down at himself. The brief burst of adrenaline cools the moment he registers he’s still in his school uniform, not Playmaker’s black and green suit.

Seems like whatever is affecting his classmates is doing so through their duel disks. A lucky break, considering how his peers stare at each other and thankfully ignore him. But confusion and fear are settling in the air, students leaping out of their seats and running to the doors and windows. Their teacher, thankfully unchanged, stares at them all with his mouth wide-open.

“Blue Angel!” A voice echoes down the hall, and a figure in white and blue darts past the classroom door, only to skid to a stop as confused students stumble out of their own classes. A girl with sky blue pigtails and a weird dress stands in the middle of the hall, head swiveling around in obvious panic, as students crowd in around her. She looks vaguely familiar, from advertisements and televised duels. In fact, he’s almost sure she’s the one he pulled out of the way of a Hanoi attack the other day. Everyone gravitates towards her, and he’s herded out into the hall alongside them.

“That’s Blue Angel!”

“Why’s she here?”

“No, I saw it! That’s Zaizen!”

“Zaizen’s Blue Angel?” Shima yells in his ear, before forcing his way through the crowd to the overwhelmed girl’s side. “Is that really you, Zaizen?”

Yusaku doesn’t really care who’s _who_. _How_ any of this is happening seems like a more pressing question as he turns on his heel and tries to push his way through the throng of students towards the exits. There’s a chance the Knights of Hanoi, or the AI he captured, have something to do with this. And if that is the case, then Yusaku will need his duel disk.

But one glance out a window stops him in his tracks, because _that’s not right._

Den City is gone—or rather, overwritten. Parts still shine through: a familiar building’s corner peeking out from under a mess of pixels, the school yard struggling against a wave of encroaching data that leaves behind a field of impossibly bright flowers.

What about his apartment? Will he even still be able to reach it?

The floor under their feet is warping as well, like a building in VRAINS in glitching into existence and replacing the tile with cold steel.

“Everyone quiet! Stop panicking!” A teacher is yelling over the racket that surrounds him, and they all flinch as the harsh cry of the intercom system cuts through the air.

“All students are to report to the auditorium! No one is to leave the school premises!” The voice of the principal is at full volume, blaring in their ears over the speakers. “Please make your way to the auditorium in an orderly fashion. Follow the directions of your teachers!”

The crowd around him shifts, jostling him back and forth and dragging him with them. Yusaku struggles against the tide of students and avatars, eyes fixed on the real world gradually disappearing outside. If he doesn’t get back to his apartment soon, there’s a chance there will be nothing to get back to.

Shit.

* * *

 

Hours into the situation, Yusaku is still trapped in the school. After being shepherded into the auditorium, the students were divided into their homerooms under the vigilance of the staff. They’re left to huddle on the floor in groups, the atmosphere a mix of apprehension and genuine delight. There’s eyes on every exit, and his teacher counts the class every few minutes, making sure no one has slipped away.

No one is telling them anything, but at the very least phones are still working. Shima’s phone disappeared with the rest of his real body, so he’s plastered to Yusaku’s side, reading updates over his shoulder. Which only reaffirms Yusaku’s every grievance with humanity, because it really, _really_ limits what he can do. Contacting Kusanagi is too risky, and he can’t exactly let Shima know he’s a hacker.

This is why he doesn’t have friends. Why he should never, ever interact with anyone. It just gets him stuck browsing confused social media feeds and sanitized news broadcasts that say nothing particularly useful. Each post and video just reveal more untempered chaos, not so much as valid theory regarding the cause behind the merge.

The government is demanding SOL give them some answers, SOL is scrambling to secure their control over “VRAINS”, the stock market taking some wild nosedives—it’s all just declarations of states of emergency and empty reassurances.

No one knows anything. But Yusaku is certain this catastrophe has something to do with the AI hidden in his apartment—the Knights of Hanoi and SOL Tech must have been hunting it for a reason, after all.

Unfortunately, if that thing _is_ responsible, so is Yusaku, considering he’s the only one who knows where it is now.

He has to get back home.

“This is _insane_.” Shima mutters, his voice pitching with excitement, “but also totally awesome! Check me out! How cool is this?”

Tilting his phone, Yusaku says nothing as he watches Inoue-sensei through the reflection on the darkened screen.

Shima babbling in his ear makes him blend into the rest of the students, at the very least. He watches his teacher, waiting for an opportunity to slip away into the crowds of students crammed into the auditorium. But before there’s even a chance, someone unfamiliar wades through the crowds of loitering students. Breaking through the mess, she’s middle-aged and dressed in business casual, not professional enough for a teacher. A secretary, he thinks, noting her painted nails and the ink staining the edge of her hand. She scrambles to his teacher’s side and whispers in his ear fiercely.

In the reflection, Inoue-sensei’s eyes turn his direction.

Probably not a good sign.

“Fujiki!” Right on cue, Inoue-sensei calls sharply, and the muttering students all around him go very quiet. “Matsuo-san here needs you to go to the office with her.”

Thirty-something curious eyes fall on him.

So much for staying inconspicuous.

“Your parents?” Shima whispers, as Yusaku pockets his phone and gets back on his feet.

“Must be.” Yusaku lies. As if anxiety isn’t boiling in his stomach as his classmates part to let him through. It could be Kusanagi, but that is probably wishful thinking. Considering the situation, Kusanagi’s first priority is probably getting to his brother. He wouldn’t come for Yusaku first.

But who else?

Someone looking for Playmaker? That isn’t possible. There’s no way they could have tracked his account to him.

But no one should be looking for Fujiki Yusaku either. Not unless—

He shuts down the thought at the first spark of genuine fear striking through his veins and lets a hot rush of anger wash it away. It doesn’t matter who is searching for him, or what their intentions are. He’s more than prepared for anything they can throw at him.

He hasn’t been biding his time for so long to back down now.

Matsuo-san is an amicable woman with a very nervous smile. She hustles him out of the auditorium with misplaced gusto that had his skin crawling as they step out into the emptied halls. And it’s not just her behavior that is unnerving: while the auditorium is mostly intact, the rest of the school isn’t. A skyscraper has cut through the East Building like butter, and fountain is fizzling in and out of existence, spraying water all over the patchwork ground.

While they cautiously circle around it, making their way towards the administration building, Yusaku considers making a break for it. Going by Matsuo-san’s high-heels and the soggy dirt under their feet, she wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Too suspicious, truthfully. If he’s getting out of here, he wants to be as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing he needs is someone following him back to his apartment.

With no other options, he follows her with tension burning in his veins. Before long they enter the strange, mismatched structure that had once hosted their school’s administration. The offices are gone, replaced with strange murals and glitching textures. If he didn’t know what the place is supposed to look like, he could have mistaken it for a bizarre modern art exhibit, filled with anxious staff that paced around in circles.

How they all freeze and stare as he steps in ruins the whole impression. Another bad sign.

In the center, a tall man with turquoise hair and chiseled features is speaking with the principal curtly, surrounded by various others in crisp suits. Further from them is an even stranger group, dressed like some video game military force with modern armor and insignia on their chests.

Bounty hunters. He’d seen the occasional mentions of them on forums, but never actually encountered any in VRAINS. They had always seemed like of little concern to him, but that was back when Playmaker was more myth than legend to the general populace.

Now that _that_ has changed, he finds he can’t be so dismissive anymore. It doesn’t exactly escape his notice that all the men are wearing duel disks.

“I’ve brought Fujiki-kun.” Matsuo-san calls, as if everyone hadn’t already noticed, before beating a quick retreat to what might have once been a desk. Eying Yusaku like a poisonous snake someone dumped on his doorstep, the principal seems too scared to say anything. But the stern-looking man he was speaking to isn’t; he strides up to Yusaku with an amiable smile that could almost be called friendly. And yet, the height difference between them is more than enough to make him seem looming.

Outstretching a hand for a shake Yusaku absolutely isn’t going to participate in, the man introduces himself. “It’s nice to meet you, Fujiki-kun. I am Zaizen Akira, the brother of one of your classmates.” There's that family name again. “I work for SOL Tech”— _Obviously_ — “and we’re in a very strange position right now. I know this may seem a little odd, but I need you to come with us.”

“Why.” It isn’t a question, not really.

Zaizen just keeps smiling. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.” He reaches out, as if to settle an arm on Yusaku’s back and guide him towards the door. Yusaku unsubtly shifts away from it with a glare potent enough to wither. Zaizen is left awkwardly waving through empty air, and coughs uncomfortably into his fist. “Would it be alright if I explain everything along the way?” Still plastering on a smile, the man motions to the door. Yusaku doesn’t budge, and instead sets his eyes on the bounty hunters shifting around. Moving deliberately but not too obviously, the armored men encircle Zaizen and him.

Careful to keep his voice dull and level, Yusaku asks, “What’s with the thugs?”

Zaizen chuckles, and it's so fake it makes the encroaching virtual environment seem perfectly real. “Don’t worry about them; they’re my bodyguards.”

A normal high schooler might not question such a claim, but even if it’s the truth, it raises the question of why the _hell_ did Zaizen need bodyguards. Had he already been attacked, or is SOL merely anticipating an ambush? By the Knights of Hanoi? If that’s what they’re expecting, Yusaku has no intentions of sticking around. Like hell Playmaker’s going to miss that kind of opportunity.

The promise of a hunt erases all other concerns from his mind, but first things first: he has to ditch the babysitters. Just as soon as he let them ever so helpfully escort him off campus.

“Alright, lead the way.” Playing the disinterested, ignorant teenager comes all too easily: slouched shoulders, hands in his pockets, his voice drawling over each syllable. Zaizen buys into it right away, the almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders relaxing as the entourage closes in around them.

They lead him off campus with all the machismo of a secret service, only to stall in place. Yusaku didn’t see them arrive, but if the vans parked outside the remains of the gate are their ride, he can guess why. Pitiful car alarms blare through the air, a poignant footnote to an already forlorn sight. Before their eyes, a strange, digital sinkhole is swallowing the entire street. The vans sink centimeter by centimeter into a pit of boiling, fizzling data, until even their whining gives way to scratchy static.

“You have to be kidding me.” Zaizen mutters under his breath, taking in the devastation with the palpable indignity. Then he realizes Yusaku can still hear him, his embarrassed lavender eyes cutting in Yusaku’s direction, and makes a valiant attempt at recomposing himself.

Yusaku isn’t exactly impressed.

It’s not like the cars would have done them any good anyway; just glancing up and down the street reveals that the rest of the roads aren’t in a much better state. With the real world and VRAINS crossing over so much, in every direction there’s a disaster zone of crashes, misplaced buildings, and miscellaneous obstacles.

Wherever they’re going, they’re hopefully going on foot. That’s only to Yusaku’s advantage, truthfully, as he wasn’t exactly looking forward to escaping a moving vehicle.

“Plan B, then.” Zaizen mutters, tapping at his duel disk. Calling them another ride, in all likelihood. That’s hardly ideal, but—

He feels them before he sees them, and knows he’s miscalculated. Flickering into existence like 3D models struggling to render, two strange figures suddenly appear. They’re tall and lanky with strange sunglasses, but more notably, they aren’t human. Not in the same way as the avatars; he can _feel_ their lack of human consciousness. They feel like Ai, but more rudimentary: SOL AIs.

Zaizen herds him over to one, and it peers at his face closely. The voice that comes out of its stiffly moving mouth is fundamentally _off_. “Beginning scan for identifying features.” He tenses up as light erupts from its glasses, skimming over him and leaving him blinking splotches out of his vision. “Scan complete. 97% match detected. Subject identified: Code 006.” Code 006? “Initiating retrieval protocol.”

He doesn’t like the sound of that. The words process in an instant, like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. Subject, like an experiment. Six. His features on file.

SOL was involved ten years ago.

The AI reaches out to him, but Yusaku is already running. He darts to the side, right in between two unsuspecting guards, and sprints for the first alleyway he sees. There’s a startled shout behind him, Zaizen’s voice calling his name sharply. But more alarmingly, he hears the familiar sound of a D-Board manifesting. In less time than it took to blink, he is jerked back by the collar of his jacket, hauled bodily off the ground by a grip like iron. Thrashing wildly, Yusaku just catches a glimpse of the AI’s artificial scowl before he’s dragged on board.

“Let go of me!” He snarls, but they’re already taking off, rising through the air alongside the second AI.

“Take him to Headquarters.” Zaizen calls after them, though it's obvious the AIs are following their own protocols, “we’ll follow you here on the ground.”

Screw that!

Yusaku struggles against the AI, but kicking and clawing don’t seem to have any effect. Barely even registering his efforts, the AI guides the board south-west on the rising wind. At first glance, the AI seems like an expert on the board, but on closer inspection Yusaku finds its movements are jerky and robotic. Its programming is struggling to keep track of the shifts in the air, the gusts battering them, and the unstable environment.

SOL must have rushed its development, hurriedly adapting some model of AI Duelist to Speed Duels and the data storms that were such a recent, and unplanned, addition to the game.

The observation eases his pounding heart. Yusaku can work with that. He can feel where the connection between the worlds is strongest, and where it is weakest, the direction of the wind, the pull of an approaching twister. His eyes find an alleyway, where the two realities are grinding together, and before his eyes a truck fizzles into view, trapped between the walls.

If he’s clever about it, he can use this.

The datastorm to the west forces the AI to fly closer to the skyscrapers as it struggles to maintain course against the buffeting winds. Yusaku waits, hyper-focused on the static prickling along the edges of his senses.

_Now,_ he thinks, and shoves with all his might. The AI, distracted and caught completely off guard, stumbles right off the board just as the building glitches out for a second. Slipping right through the open air, the AI plummets for a moment before the building is back, a barrier of glass and steel between them.

There’s shouting from the bounty hunters and Zaizen below as he takes control of the board, and the other AI changing course to cut him off, so he forces the board upwards. Shooting through the air, he can feel the autopilot of the SOL-programmed board taking over and the other AI hot on his heels, but it’s too late. He leaps off just as the board’s nose begins to tip down, catching hold of the rooftop’s edge. Scrambling his way up from there, his sneakers squealing against glass, Yusaku throws himself on to the gravelly roof.

SOL’s AI is quick to chase, double the speed of his fastest sprint on its board, but he can feel the connection flaring up again. Before his eyes, a hole opens up in the skyscrapers rooftop, and Yusaku throws himself into it. It closes behind him in a flurry of pixels, locking out the outstretched hand of the AI, and his sneakers meet the carpet hard. Rolling with the momentum, he’s back on his feet in an instant, searching for a stairway.

There’s an elevator, but it’ll be too easy for them to keep track of what floor he’s on. Already, he can hear yelling through the building’s walls as he finds the staircase and starts dashing down, taking the steps three or four at a time. Over his head, he hears the echo of a door bursting open: his tail found the rooftop entrance.

Five more flights down, he veers off and enters the sixteenth floor. He finds a different staircase, and starts heading back up, his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs burning. Stopping at the top of the first stairwell, he listens as the AI’s footsteps continue to descend.

What a dumb AI. As expected of SOL, and yet he can't relax. No matter how dumb the AIs are, Yusaku still needs another way out of this building. With Zaizen and the others at the bottom, slipping by isn't particularly viable. And the AI’s board has probably already despawned, so that isn’t an option either.

Still debating his escape, his Link Sense is the only warning he gets. The awareness of _something_ else on the floor hits him like a shock of electricity—a sensation he couldn’t possibly ignore, ever. He runs for the nearest doorway, but his fingers are only curling around the handle when he hears the cracking.

With a thunderous snarl, some sort of monster bursts through the wall and knocks him off his feet. It’s on eight limbs, all shining red claws that tear into the carpet and lead into an exposed ribcage of gray bone. He can see its heart pounding within, right past its bare skull.

It has no eyes, but it’s staring right at him.

Yusaku forces himself back and sprints in the other direction, hearing its furious growl echoing against the walls. It outpaces him with ease, skidding around him and blocking him off. He stumbles away and makes for the only remaining option: the staircase.

But even as he’s once more rushing down the countless stairs, he recognizes what’s happening. He’s being led, forced onto a single path that will lead him right back to SOL’s lackeys. Even knowing that, with the monster’s hot breath on his back as it all but nips at his heels, there’s little he can do but keep running. It chases him right out of the building, until his breath is completely ragged and he’s tripping face first onto the concrete.

Right at Zaizen’s feet.

The beast is all but on top of him, blades poised to strike, when Zaizen’s voice cuts in. “Stop, Tindangle Hound.” Yusaku forces himself off his front, his chest heaving as the monster pauses over him. The palms of his hands are scraped raw from the impact, but he pays the pain little mind as he forces himself into a sitting position. Just propping himself up on his overtaxed limbs takes the last of his energy, but even so he struggles to stand back up. Standing over both him and the monster, Zaizen gives him a look that can almost be called pitying as he barely manages to raise himself up to one knee. “Fujiki-kun, it would be best if you didn’t run.” The man let out an aggrieved sigh, his eyes fluttering briefly shut as the monster’s claws inch threateningly closer to Yusaku’s face. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

“No, you aren’t.” A deep voice agrees, unmistakable fury in every word, just as blast of energy cuts through the air. Forcing his eyes shut in the face of such blinding light, Yusaku hears Tindangle Hound’s sharp wail as the attack makes impact, and only catches sight of its remaining shards as they shatter into nothing. A shadow falls over them and Yusaku’s breath catches in his throat. The wind picks up into a flurry, his hair whipping against his face as he looks up. An immense monster is swooping down to hover over their heads. Struggling to see passed the light shining in his eyes, Yusaku can make out two wings of blazing green energy and limbs as thick as trunks. All six limbs ripple with power, metal and muscle shifting together and burning with aura, as the great dragon flexes back and lets out a bone-shaking roar of triumph.

A figure leaps off it, his silhouette stark against the sun, and lands before him in a crouch. A lean back clothed in pristine white, contrasting sharply with wild red hair. His head snapping up, Revolver rises like a viper, fluid and quick but so smoothly Yusaku feels like time is moving too slowly to keep up with him.

His first glimpse of Revolver was of a destroyer; an almost alien-like man standing alone in a world of fire with an army of dragons at his command, the image of him so visceral it had to be wrenched from the AI’s scattered memories. His second glance had been no less stunning, his heart stuttering in his chest as dragon-rider cut through the sky towards him, over a city on the verge of being consumed by what wasn’t even real. He’d stood so tall and steadfast, even tens of meters over the ground, like not even the wind could touch him.

Neither of those times had Revolver been _real_ , just a distant figure Yusaku would someday have to tear out of the sky, an enemy he had to chase across a whole other world to even have a chance of clashing with.

And yet, here he is. Like a hero arriving just in the nick of time.

_Why,_ Yusaku can’t help but wonder, _are you here?_


	2. 1B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll proofread this tomorrow

He’s been eating breakfast on his own since he was seven years old. Quiet moments like these, simple and ordinary, are not easy to come by anymore, and Ryoken has learnt to appreciate them for what they are. Breakfast remains as one of the few leniencies he allows in his routine, and after more than a decade, he can scarcely imagine anything else.

So, Ryoken is understandably shocked when his father materializes in front of the dining room table and the spoon he was bringing up to his mouth crashes into a sheet of glass.

“What the hell?” Since when has he been wearing gloves? Revolver’s gloves?

His father—has he gone insane? He knows that his family didn’t have the best grasp of mental stability, but  _hallucinations? —_ frowns at him.

“Language, Revolver.” That’s his dad, alright. “There’s no time for breakfast, we have a situation on our hands.”

Breakfast seems to be doing a fine job of disappearing on its own. The entire table is fizzling out of existence, as what he recognizes as the Hanoi Headquarters starts flickering over it. The switch from bright sunlight to the dim rooms they favored is hell on his eyes as he stumbles to his feet. His shoes are gone, replaced with Revolver’s boots.

“What is going on?” His mind is racing, and yet all it can pull up is blanks. “Am I in VRAINS?” Absurd, he didn’t log in. In fact, Ryoken is certain he hasn’t even touched the duel disk on his wrist all morning.

But his father is  _standing_   _there_ , and Kogami hasn’t left his bed on his own feet in years. Ever since the reconstruction, his father’s mind has  _only_  existed within the network, leaving only an empty husk in reality. The sight of him, so suddenly, so  _real_ , has Ryoken’s throat closing up with emotion.

But his father pays him no mind, displays flickering into life around him. “It would seem I vastly underestimated the Ignis’s capabilities.” The information on the displays in completely overwhelming; Ryoken can barely believe what he is reading. “I don’t know how they did it, but they merged the two realities.”

The sentence repeats over again in his head, but it doesn’t make any more sense the second time around. “That’s… impossible.” Something like this wasn’t even on their list of possible scenarios. And not for lack of foresight or creativity; the merging of virtual reality and the real world is simply well beyond the realm of possibility. Or at least, it should be. 

Hs father’s cold eyes slide shut, a brief glimpse of frustration revealed in his furrowed brow. When he opens his eyes, it’s gone. “Evidently not.”

Ryoken swallows, uncertainly. He still feels  _real,_  like this is his physical body and not a virtual construct his mind thinks it is inhabiting. Maybe it had become both, temporarily. “Can we fix this?”

“We must.” Whatever the Ignis have done, it has to be reversible. “Get the others here. We need a plan.”

He calls the others in. Spectre emerges almost immediately, his face as serene as it is pale. There’s something grounding about how little he has changed, but with just a glance Ryoken can tell he’s in his avatar form as well. Ryoken never thought the day would come when he actually appreciates his friend’s stubborn refusal to wear a disguise in VRAINS.

There’s a first for everything.

Dr. Taki and Asou—Vyra and Faust stumble in next, their eyes wide and startled behind their intricate masks. To the credit of his nature, Genome seems the least unnerved when he arrives last, bright fascination gleaming in his gaze. Moving in tandem is mostly habit for each of them, an unshakable sense of camaraderie and teamwork built over so many years working together. The emergency seems less daunting with them all gathered together, even if every sliver of information they uncover only raises more questions.

For hours, the situation spirals further out of control, the dire reality of the sudden merge becoming more apparent. Getting their own forces under control is a challenge in and of itself. Their very organization is built on the backs of people that want to disturb the order of the world without risking anything meaningful. In an instant, the anonymity that protected all those people’s everyday lives had been snatched away without warning, average people all over the country suddenly shifting into cyber terrorists in their workplaces and homes.

There will be repercussions for this, but there are benefits as well. Ryoken is not so arrogant to think this will not shake their loyalty to him. It's inconsequential, however, with how easy it is to shift their frustrations elsewhere. And from there, well, nothing brings comrades together better than adversity. In all the confusion and excitement the merge has caused, what everyone wants most is someone to count on. Their knights flock in, looking for answers and guidance, which Ryoken is all too willing to provide. With such convenient enemies to place the blame upon, it's easy to work the situation in the favor.

Unfortunately, they aren't the only ones who can adapt and take advantage. With their domain gradually encroaching over the entire country, Den City at its focal point, SOL Tech had suddenly found themselves in control of  _everything._ Even the government has no choice but to turn to them, both demanding answers and begging for a solution. A mediocre virtual reality game is suddenly devouring their reality, and yet Ryoken can only imagine the malicious executives of SOL rubbing their greedy palms together.

They have to fix this, before SOL takes control over the entire country, maybe more, and before the Ignis launch the next phase of their plan. But without even understanding how the merge happened, Ryoken don't even know where to begin. Even as the discuss it, he feels like the matter is spinning out of control.

“I believe there may be a way.” His father speaks, and Ryoken turns to meet his unwavering gaze. “If we use the six.”

Dread sinks in his gut.  _The six_  could only mean one group: the six people that are just as tied up in the conflict with the Ignis as any of them, but almost always go unmentioned. Self-condemnation, maybe, held the others’ tongues on the subject, even when Spectre was in the same room. Or maybe they didn’t even feel guilty, and they were just ignoring the stench of their sins until it went away. “Isn’t there some other way?”

Hadn't their victims given up enough? What right did they have to ask more of them? But even as those questions settle in his mind, he rebukes himself for them. If those six must be dragged back into the line of fire, it is the Ignis that are responsible for placing them there. The culpability lies with the treacherous AI, for disturbing the hard-won peace of those children.

This time, it isn't his father's fault. 

The gravity of what they must do settles over them, cold and familiar, until all their faces are drawn and weary. But his father’s face, he thinks, has always been grave. Nothing Ryoken ever did had been enough to put the life back into him. But what hurts the most is how none of that gravitas is for the lives they ruined. Ryoken knows, he  _does,_  that their sacrifices are merely a footnote on the bottom of humanity’s page: a necessary formality, barely worth reading.

And yet, he just can’t seem to internalize it the way the others can.

“If we can bring the six back together,” Kogami says, like it’s simple and easy, “we may be able to use them to take control over the Cyberse birthed from their consciousnesses.” Caught adrift, Ryoken looks to Spectre, but his friend is pretending to be focused on the screens before him. “We need  _all_  of them, Revolver.”

“I understand.” But there must be another way. “What about SOL?” Couldn’t SOL simply shut down the VRAINS? Or would that be disastrous? In all likelihood, nobody dares even attempt it as of now, not without knowing whether their regular reality will still be there after the network shuts down.

But his father is of a different mind. “They have all the power in the world, now. They won’t surrender that so easily.”

It’s a fair concern. SOL is power-hungry and opportunistic on the best days, and terrifying in their disregard of human life on the worst. Now that they, in a way, had an incomprehensible number of people and their entire way of life hostage, would they really give it up willingly?

Disregarding SOL, there is one other party that may be of use. Ryoken turns to the others. "Has there been any news on the Dark Ignis?" Playmaker still had it in his possession, according to the last intel they'd received, but so much else had already changed since then. The others shake their heads, offering nothing. 

"Playmaker has yet to be spotted, as of the merge." Spectre answers, blue eyes flicking through reports. "And not for lack of trying. Reporters, fans, our knights—everyone's on the lookout for him."

An unpromising response. Whether he'd already been taken care of by the Ignis, or is simply biding his time and laying low, Ryoken can't count on finding him. Not when so much is at stake, when there is so little time. He  _will_  find Playmaker and the Dark Ignis is time, but in the meantime, if they want to fix this, they’re on their own.

Ryoken turns his eyes back to the data laid out before him, pulling up an all too familiar file.

“What do we know about the other five?”

They’re lucky, he supposes, to start with one already. That’s one more than either the Ignis or SOL should have. And they will search for them, he realizes, because if his father came to the conclusion of the six's necessity, then so would their enemies eventually. 

“Next to nothing—except what they looked like ten years ago. We don’t even have their names.” Faust answers, bringing up a selection of photos none of them ever looked at. He hesitates for a moment, his voice wavering with implications. “But we haven’t exactly been trying to keep track of them.”

Vyra comes up to his side, eyes locked on the little faces on display. “Do you think we’ll be able to find them?”

They’d never wanted to try before, but Ryoken had. He hadn’t gotten far, and even then, it had been fate that brought Spectre back.

His father hums, distant. “We kept no record of them, but that doesn’t mean no one did.” The implication in his words is obvious. When Ryoken gave away the Project all those years ago, SOL had confiscated almost everything they had, including the burgeoning Ignis and his father’s consciousness. “SOL may know where they are.”

Kogami is right, of course. The information is probably buried somewhere, too damning to see the light of day but too valuable to purge entirely. SOL would never destroy their only failsafe, in the case of an Ignis being completely deleted.

With dark eyes, Faust immediately started calling upon their subordinates. “I’ll get our men working on it, and see what information on them we can uncover.”

If SOL does know where to find the six victims, there’s a chance that they’re already on the move to secure them. His spy had already snuck him a report, suggesting that SOL already suspects that the Ignis caused the merge. And knowing the rogue AIs are responsible, locking down valuable assets like the six victims is just the logical next step.

Fingers curling into fists, Ryoken's eyes linger on the pictures, tracing over the nostalgic features of one particular green-eyed child. He knows the notes left alongside the old photo by heart, having read them over and over again as he sat in his father's chair and worried about being caught. They haven't changed since then at all, reading:

_Subject #6._

_Age: 6_

_Subject displays unusual connection to the network, responds to intangible virtual stimulus, and possesses knowledge of subjects seemingly never educated on. Additionally, subject possesses above average intelligence and is capable of both recognizing and formulating complex strategic patterns._

Clinical words that only contained disinterested observations. Very little about who the six test subjects were individually mattered to them at all, but that disregard had clearly been a miscalculation on their part. As a child, the empty notes had always frustrated his piqued curiosity, never offering him any satisfaction no matter how many times he reviewed them.

_Who are you?_ He wanted to know. 

He still wants to know. It has been a decade since he’d last seen that face, properly. Reviewing the project materials they salvaged after the fact simply wasn’t a pleasant experience. The pictures and remaining footage were too painful to look at, nothing but reminders of children screaming and crying, and his father being taken away.

But that didn’t mean his thoughts hadn’t wandered back to this face, those eyes, over the years, wondering what became of the child that refused to break.

_You’re out there somewhere, aren’t you?_

The possibility that time has warped Subject #6 into someone else always lingers in the back of his mind. Maybe it is to be expected; he doubts life was easier for any of the children outside the cold walls of their lab. Spectre had even come back, when Ryoken had come looking for them. Fruitless as it was, he had tried to find the others back then as well, but they had vanished like ghosts, slipping from his grasp.

He regrets letting them go, sometimes, when a bizarre sensation itches at his skin, and he remembers a fragile boy crumpled on the unforgiving floor. Against all logic and sense, there is always a sense of urgency, a lingering impression that #6 still needs him, prickling at the edge of his thoughts. But before, Ryoken could only hope that that child remained unbroken, and that even if he wasn’t safe, he would hold together until Ryoken could find him again.

Maybe, this time is different. He lets his eyes trace the boy’s features one last time, memorizing every detail, before he gets to work.

_Be strong. I’ll be beside you again soon._

Forcing the wistful thoughts aside, he updates his spy on what to look out for: any suspicious parties sent out be SOL to retrieve any individuals that resembled the children in the attached photographs.

The reply is almost immediate, so much so that all his friends go stiff at their stations.

_> Found one_

“SOL already—” Vyra's voice is sharp, cutting off in disbelief. 

Ryoken is already sending his reply, fingers flashing almost too quickly for the keys to keep up.

_< Which? Where?_

_> 6._

The ground falls out from under him. Just one number, and he wants to slam his hands against the walls.

_> Den City High._

Faust is lurching towards the door. “They’ve must have already sent out a party to retrieve him.” To retrieve the sixth test subject. _Ryoken’s_ test subject. “I can go—”

His mouth is impossibly dry as he forces it open. “No. I’ll go.”

Everyone turns to look at him, and his father’s eyes in particular burn. But Ryoken barely notices, striding out without another word.

Three things, Ryoken thinks. Three things to defeat the enemy. Three things to keep _him_ safe. Three things to finally bring _him_ home.

Ryoken really did regret letting them go. It’s a mistake he refuses to make again. His knights fall into step around him, caught off guard by the ferocity of his expression but recognizing what it meant all the same. Everything passes by in a blur, all his focus and concentration on tracking SOL’s movements through the city and determining the most efficient route to intercept them.

In no time at all, a scene is unfolding before him, and it makes his blood boil long before he’s fully processed it. Vaporizing the monster is more instinct than thought.

But in truth, it is the green eyes that really register first. In ten years, he’s never once forgot the deep emerald of those eyes, but his memories couldn’t possibly compete with the real thing. So many years had passed them by since he’d last been able to meet them with his own, without a camera feed between them.

At last their eyes meet again, and the whole world goes still. Ryoken hears his own breath hitch; his lungs, his heart, his face all rebelling against him. Completely against his own volition, he’s smiling. Rage froths under his skin, but the feeling is suddenly so distant, overwhelmed by unexpected warmth.

When he wasn’t looking, the sixth test subject grew up. So small, scrawny, and hurt before, part of Ryoken had thought he never would. But against all odds, before him is not the child that haunts his conscience but a teenager: svelte and fine. He’s imagined this moment so many times, played it out in his head over and over again over the course of the three thousand and six hundred days and nights he spent waiting for their reunion. Never once did he think his first thought, at this anticipated, pivotal moment, would be:  _Your hair is pinker._

Yeah, he’s losing it.

 

* * *

 

Exposure therapy, his therapist once told him, is the best way to conquer one’s fears.

When she told him that, he knew she was talking about facing other people again, about going outside, about playing games and making friends. Good advice, even if Yusaku put it to use in an unorthodox manner. She probably hadn’t meant he should hunt and exterminate cyber-terrorists one by one after all.

His methods could hardly be criticized; the exposures were gradual and repetitive, just like she said they should be, until the prospect of facing his kidnappers no longer seemed so daunting. The possibilities that once filled him with helplessness and terror transformed into furious hopes that burned in his chest, until he couldn’t wait to meet his tormentors again.

Yusaku has wanted to meet Revolver for a while now.

But this is far from ideal. The leader of the Knights of Hanoi is infinitely stranger than his underlings, with eyes so entirely yellow they’re uncanny. Reflecting the sunlight, the polished glass mask set over Revolver’s angular features bears circles like the barrels of a gun aimed right at Yusaku. Matching bullets dangle from his earrings.

For a terrorist, Revolver took his gun theme very seriously.

Forced back a meter by Revolver’s sudden arrival, Zaizen is stunned and wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open as he took in the beast looming over their heads. The buildings around them shudder and shatter, revealing the familiar jagged form of Cracking Dragon tearing through glass and steel like paper. SOL’s lackies yell as the dragon turns upon them, diving through the air to lock its jaws around an AI duelist. The AI lets out an electronic shriek as its torn apart, its data disappearing down Cracking Dragon’s throat, the horrible noise only punctuated by the laughter of the Knight on its back.

More white-clad figures arrive, a handful of terrorists on both boards and dragons with a datastorm brewing underneath them. The wind whips around Revolver, whose blank yellow eyes turn away from Yusaku and settle on Zaizen’s horrified face.

“Seems SOL isn’t so above kidnapping after all.” Revolver’s voice is low and drawling, each word more disdainful than the last.

Zaizen’s shoulders all but rise to his ears, shock giving way to frustration as he takes in the new arrivals. Knights of Hanoi are scrimmaging with SOL goons in all directions, and there’s a dragon hanging over Yusaku’s head, but if he wants to escape, now is probably his best shot. But his body refuses to move off the ground, his every instinct rebelling against the notion of fleeing from Hanoi. After so long, Revolver is finally right before his eyes, and his only option is to run away?

He couldn’t accept that.

But Revolver could not any more obviously dismiss him a threat, focused entirely on the SOL employees before him. Having made quick work of the AIs, the Knights are already turning upon the bounty hunters and Zaizen’s entourage of suits, while their two leaders face off.

“The Knights of Hanoi…” Zaizen’s teeth are clenched, the words hissed in between them. Visibly forcing them apart, the vicious look on his face fades as he pieces his composure back together. “Who are you?”

SOL’s Head of Security doesn’t even know Revolver’s avatar. Yusaku doesn’t exactly find that surprising, but it’s almost astounding how incompetent a terrorist group could make the world’s leading technology corporation look.  

Revolver didn’t even acknowledge the question, only giving Zaizen a cold gaze and a colder smile. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice what you are up to?” Icy as Revolver’s expression may be, his voice belied a deeply ingrained rage. Just for a moment, his face turned, just far enough for their eyes to meet again. The look only lasted for a second, something unreadable hanging in the air, before he faced Zaizen once more. “Or did you just think I would let you take them?”

_Them?_

The other five victims?

His heart pounds in his chest, an uneasy feeling once more settling over him. Revolver—and the Knights—know exactly who he is, or rather, who he used to be.

For what felt like a lifetime, Yusaku was terrified that someone would eventually come to find him. His greatest fear was being tracked down and snatched once more, and that paranoia warped him in way no one could understand. Everyone he met became nothing more than a suspect, a potential spy, an eventual threat. Even the foster parents the government foisted him upon could be the enemy, hiding behind pitying smiles as they waited for a chance to make him, and everything he knew, disappear. Each whisper of  _do not speak of it, ever,_  each day that passed without any answers or reports from the police that promised to call, each conversation he overheard through the walls: they all only served to justify the anxious nightmare life had become.

Yusaku bided his time, honed his skills, and gathered whatever resources he could. And then he made himself vanish.

Evidently, he hadn’t been thorough enough.

As his mind races, the two leaders face off, the antipathy between them palpable in the air. But for all their words and enmity, the duel has barely begun before it is finished. Zaizen crumples like paper under Revolver’s intricate offense, without having made even a dent in his opponent’s defenses.

And when attack that brings his life-points to zero hits, he  _screams._

Instinctually, Yusaku had known the hellhound set upon him could tear him to shreds, just as well as any real beast with teeth that size and claws that sharp. Because the monsters  _are_  real now, as real as anyone else in this anomalous new world.

But that may not have been as obvious to everyone else. Even Revolver seems momentarily stunned, staring down at the man collapsing to the asphalt like an abandoned rag-doll. Having witnessed their superior screech like he’d been torn asunder, the remaining SOL employees begin to flee. Yusaku may be able to sense that Zaizen will be fine, his condition more superficial than the result of any lasting damage, but the others have no way of knowing that. Only a few stubborn men remain, and they won’t last for long. Soon, Yusaku will be left alone with his enemies.

Already he is surrounded by their white coats and pinned underneath Revolver’s returned attention.

Limbs heavy with dread, Yusaku expects to be threatened, or attacked, or just told to scram. As he inches backwards over the rough concrete, Revolver approaches him with deliberate steps, never once breaking eye contact. Just a step away, he pauses, a look of contemplative scrutiny behind the gleaming glass of his mask.

Then, Revolver reaches out to him. “Are you alright?” He asks, his voice a little softer than before. Yusaku can only stare at the white-gloved hand extended towards him beckoningly, his mouth dry and his body frozen still. Taking his silence for fear, not speechlessness, Revolver stoops down onto one knee. “You do not have to be afraid of me.” Though still soft, his voice is firm, almost commanding.

Yusaku is  _not_  afraid. But he doesn’t like this situation at all.

The enemy he set his sights on right before his eyes and he can’t even do  _anything._ Instead _,_ he’s encircled by hostiles on all sides, unable to even defend himself.

Uncaring for his rigid posture, Revolver reaches out and takes him by the wrist, gently guiding Yusaku back onto his aching feet. Those alien eyes are piercing, only breaking away from his own to turn back to the battlefield. “Stay close to me,” He orders, squeezing Yusaku’s wrist before letting go. He sets himself between Yusaku and the skirmish, all but physically shielding Yusaku with his own body.

This is so wrong.

Yusaku doesn’t know what is going on anymore, but he has to get away. He can’t be taken again—going with SOL would have been preferable. He shouldn’t have run in the first place.

Even as he stumbles backwards, away from Revolver’s turned back, Yusaku knows it is too late for second thoughts. He registers a presence behind him too late, his back meeting an unyielding body even as he tries to spin around. The knight grins at him, a familiar expression that he’s never had to see so close before.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. This familiar terror, he already cast it aside. He’s stronger than this.

He left his weakness behind, didn’t he?

Yusaku can’t breathe.

The last of SOL’s team goes down with a whimper. The knight seizes him by the arm and forcibly guides him back to Revolver. Yusaku struggles and snarls the whole way, but it does little to deter the unrelenting force dragging him over.

The terrorist’s leader turns back, his expression blank for only a moment, before an indulgent smile curls his lips. He leans into Yusaku’s space, too close, until Yusaku can see his own wide-eyed reflection overlaid over Revolver’s sharp, hawkish features. “Sorry, but you’ll be coming with us.”

_No._ Yusaku jerks against the grip holding him place, his heart pounding in his chest. This can’t be happening, he thinks, because this is straight out of his nightmares. But the Knight doesn’t budge, and when his teeth sink into his bottom lip, he doesn’t wake up.

Hanoi has come for him again.

“Hey, you,” a voice says sternly, and Yusaku stills like a dog hearing a whistle. He looks back at Revolver, whose smile has faded. A gloved hand reaches for him, and for a moment he’s too terrified to move away. But Revolver only seizes his jaw and jerks his face up. “Look what you did to yourself.” The rough swipe of Revolver’s thumb across his split bottom lip is nothing more than a gentle pressure, but the white glove comes away stained red. Revolver gazes at the stain for moment, before he turns to the Knights gathered around. “Be careful with him. Don’t let him hurt himself further.” Revolver commands, turning on his heel, his long jacket whipping through the air. Too stiff to take more than shallow breaths, Yusaku can do little but dig his heels in as they drag him towards the remaining dragons.

This is far worse than any nightmare. 


	3. 2A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Del~!

The sixth test subject is scared of them.

Ryoken knows why, can _understand_ why. He doesn’t know why he expected anything else. But still the sight of the teenager struggling to get away from him haunts him. The blood from his lips is a vibrant stain on Ryoken’s white gloves, and he stares as it as they soar over the city.

Below them is an unfamiliar world, what was supposed to be Den City devoured by brilliant lights and new, impossible areas. When he looks up, it is like someone has started piecing together a puzzle over the real sky, that of VRAINS concealing it piece by piece.

The monster under his feet is very real, but at the same time, it is nothing but pixels and data, not true flesh, scale, and bone. They shouldn’t be able to stand on it at all, but all the tests confirmed they would be able to before they even left. Had it just been them, Ryoken wouldn’t have bothered, he wasn’t about to bring the teenager aboard unless he could be certain the beast wouldn’t flicker out of existence underneath them.

Nevertheless, each time he turns to look, the teen glares at him, fury creasing his brow and clenching his teeth. But still Ryoken keeps looking anyway, fascinated with the brightness the anger and fear put in those eyes. For a civilian, the teenager is remarkably steady on the dragon’s back, more so than even the two Knights assigned with keeping him from being lost.

Ryoken can’t say he isn’t impressed by that. Most would be too terrified to even stand, especially after being almost kidnapped by SOL Technologies. The memory of Zaizen’s hound looming over the teenager remains, punctuated by the scrapes he can see on the pale hands almost imperceptibly shaking.

This, he figures, is where he’s supposed to be comforting.

“Relax. SOL won’t be able to pursue us.” Though, they are welcome to try. Ryoken would like nothing more than to blast them out of the sky.

Their guest doesn’t look very comforted. But the look he receives is less shell-shocked and more dubious, blue eyebrows slanting down.

And for the first time since their reunion, the sixth test subject opens his mouth and speaks.

“And who are you, exactly?”

_It’s me._ He can’t say it, but some foolish part of him, the part he thought he had burned out already, wants to. Instead, what comes out is cold and clipped. “Revolver. Leader of the Knights of Hanoi.”

Green eyes narrow as the teenager’s fists clench. It must be painful to dig his nails into his torn palms, but he doesn’t seem to even notice. Instead, the tone of the teenager’s voice is vicious and suspicious. “So you’re terrorists.”

The vitriol-laden accusation hits hard, knocking his perception of the sixth test subject askew, but he doesn’t let it show. Never once in the sixth months they were together did that child take that sort of tone with Ryoken. His little voice had always been plaintive and shaky, undercut with terror and desperation.

Ryoken didn’t know that pitiful little boy could manage that kind of cutthroat intensity. And it cuts deep.

For the first time, he finds himself regretting their reputation. It is necessary, and inevitable, that the world will view them in a certain way. So long as they can defeat the Ignis and prevent humanity’s annihilation from taking place, how their actions are perceived by the general public is irrelevant. Even if they go down in history as villains, at least there will be a future to hear that history.

Yet, despite all that, that ferocity makes him all the more curious.

Still Ryoken hesitates to ask the question lingering on the edge of his tongue and hanging in his throat. The same question that he always held back, ten years ago, as he stood in front of the computer console. At last, he has another chance to ask it, but his tongue is slow to move.

He’s not a child anymore, he reminds himself. He won’t get overly attached to something just because it has a name.

“What's your name?” After ten years, the words finally come out, despite the venomous look he receives. For a moment, it seems like he’ll get no reply, and sudden impatience burns in his gut. He’s waited this long already, can’t he finally just get an answer? “You might as well tell me. It won’t take long to get with just your face after all.”

The answer is slow to come, but eventually it does with great reluctance. “Fujiki Yusaku.”

Fujiki Yusaku.

It's strange to be able to put a name to a face after so long without one. Satisfying, to some degree. Proof that it was all real, that Ryoken hadn't dreamt up the feeble child of his guilt-ridden dreams. But there is no more pretending with this, no more hiding behind the pretense of ignorance. That child was not a ghost, not an illusion, but a living, breathing person with his own life and story, that bore the repercussions of his actions.

Yusaku.

He won’t forget it.

 

* * *

Flying on the back of a dragon is a very different experience than gliding the winds on a D-Board. The air rushing over his face feels the same, sounds the same, but the beast under his feet shifts of its own accord, adjusting to the winds without direction. He has no control over where its taking him, and the only escape is throwing himself from its back.

It would be certain death.

Yusaku can’t die yet, not without all the answers he seeks.

But he doesn’t want to just accept his capture either. A burning defiance alights within him at just the thought, but there’s so little he can do with it. He can fight and resist, maybe even push the Knights off into the open air like he did with the AI earlier, but without a dueldisk, he won’t get far with even that. So long as he can’t summon monsters like the Knights can, he’s at an almost insurmountable disadvantage.

He doesn’t manage to come with a workable plan before it’s too late.

A blue and white diamond emerges, hanging in the sky like a translucent barrier: SOL’s firewall around the network. Through his Link Sense, Yusaku can hear alarms blaring and see warnings flickering in the edges of his vision, alerting SOL’s technicians of an attempted breach. Without hesitation, the dragon flies right into it.

They smash right through reality, leaving nothing behind but jagged red cracks.

It _hurts,_ like a noise that it far too high in pitch right in his ear or a spike to the brain. He flinches at the suddenness of it, eyes clenched tight, and when he forces them open again, the scenery has changed. They’re flying through a passage of some sorts, lined in green at periodic intervals but with little else, and moving through the network at great speeds.

Before he even has time to adjust to it, they come out the other end, into a much wider, but even darker space.

Borreload Dragon sweeps down and lands with a force that has what seems to be a hangar shuddering, its immense wing span filling the wide, dim room. Here, there is no attempt at simulating reality, completely unlike SOL’s style of design; the walls are like terminals, flowing with data in fluorescent light, elongated red triangles, and information displays. Everything moves and pulsates as a single system, constantly running calculations and scanning programs. Just the feeling of so much data around him buzzing and humming in such high density has him dizzy.

There’s so much information, it’s like he’s stepped out of a shower and fallen right into an ocean. And all of it is so close, practically at his fingertips. Even just glimpses of the monitors running through hundreds of lines of code a minute are enlightening.

If he can get his hands into this place, there will be _nothing_ they can hide from him.

No one else seems to even notice. Not at all aware of the thief they just brought into their treasury, a group of people gather by the dragon’s feet. They’re all dressed in the white coats he’s come to loathe, but instead of hoods they wear half a mask each, and all stare expectantly up at Revolver.

One of his guards moves to grab him, but Yusaku jerks away. Unfortunately, the movement just brings him closer to Revolver, who grins unpleasantly.

Waving away his Knights, Revolver is the first to jump down, before turning back, looking Yusaku right in the eye, and opening his arms.

Yusaku cannot hold back the disgusted, withering look he gives in response. It doesn’t matter how exhausted or torn up he is, or how inexperienced and clueless he should attempt to look right now, _that’s not happening._

He takes his own leap off the dragon’s back and lands with ease, the guard quick to follow. Revolver only looks amused, but the other three unusual Knights are staring at him. Their faces are impossible to read, but Yusaku meets their gazes with equal intensity.

“Any updates?” Revolver’s voice has all three back at attention, their eyes wrenched from Yusaku’s face.

The tallest of the group, a man with indigo hair and a severe expression, immediately answers. “We’re waiting for word back, sir.”

“Inform me the moment we know the next location.”

“Yessir.” All the gathered Knights vanish with a single word, disappearing in flurries of data. Revolver alone remains, peering at Yusaku with an angular face only sharpened by the severe lighting.

“You,” he says deliberately, “follow me.”

There is little else Yusaku _can_ do. Revolver leads him out of the hangar and into another hall, the only sound the ring of the footsteps. Eventually, after traversing corridor after corridor, Yusaku finds himself in an area that looks a little more real. The walls are a cold, Spartan steel, and don’t seem to lead into an ceiling but rather disappear into more data, but they’re solid and reminiscent of reality.

“You’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.” Revolver says as they continue on, towards a more open hall lined with doors. “At least until the matter of the merge has been resolved.” Yusaku raises an eyebrow at that, taking note of the phrasing. For a moment, Revolver glances back at Yusaku, and must see the displeasure on Yusaku’s face at the very idea. He smiles. “Unless you would prefer to try your luck with SOL instead?”

“Maybe I would.” Yusaku replies, his words clipped. Not that he wants to be stuck with either. “Won’t they be trying to fix this mess?” He doesn’t entirely believe that, but it feels like something someone in his position might say if they were trusting and naive.

In all likelihood, the best chance at fixing this was Yusaku himself, and _by himself,_ without any of these other organizations and their self-absorbed motives getting in his way. The Knights of Hanoi have done little to illuminate him to their motives, but he’s still willing to bet his capture isn’t unrelated to the merge.

That, however, only raises more questions.

The words are meant as as nothing more than a petty jab. But they aren’t taken that way.

“Don’t be foolish.” Revolver snaps suddenly, and Yusaku almost jumps at the force in the unexpected reprimand. Spinning on his heel, Revolver turns on him, and the hallway suddenly seems far more narrow than before. “That’s only what they want people to think.”

With his eyes frozen on the intensity of Revolver’s expression, Yusaku takes a wary step back. Revolver matches it immediately, and the sound of his boots on the floor seems much louder than before. They move in tandem, one back, the other forward, as Revolver’s voice rises with authority. “Right now, the populace wants this problem fixed, so SOL says they will fix it.” Yusaku’s back hits the wall, the cold of the steel seeping through the thin fabric of his school uniform. He didn’t even realize he was backing himself into a corner, too focused on the rise and fall of Revolver’s voice. Revolver stands before him, too close and too sharp, all jagged lines and vibrant color. Gone is the flat, dully amused expression of before, as well as the coldness with which he ordered his men around. Replacing it is a twisted smirk of condescension and agitation, matched by Revolver’s narrow yellow eyes. “And that, supposedly, is why they want _you._ ”

His mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy in his throat. Those yellow eyes seem to consume everything else. “But really, the world has fallen into their hands. For them, this matter isn’t so much a _problem,_ as it is an _opportunity_ .” Revolver leans in, one arm resting on the wall alongside Yusaku’s head, until he can almost touch the glass pane in between them. His breath, coming slightly too fast, just barely fogs over its surface. “And you, Fujiki Yusaku,” the way Revolver says his name, slow and intentional, _burns,_ “are now in the way of that.”

Its confirmation enough of what these two groups claim to want of him: a way to turn things back to normal.

Meaning, for some reason or another, SOL thought the six victims were associated with the merge of the realities. Yusaku takes the logic a step further, and understands what Revolver is implying. Anything that can be used to solve the problem is now a threat to SOL’s sudden, but irrevocable, dominance.

Revolver’s voice is low, his smirk faltering. “Do you know what SOL does to people they find _inconvenient?_ ”

He doesn’t.

And Revolver is right. He knows Revolver is right, had known already back when he was scrolling through news reports. SOL can’t be trusted with this, especially not if they were somehow involved in the Hanoi Project.

Still, he should shove Revolver away, leader of a terrorist organization or not.

But Revolver is warm.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Of course Revolver is warm; the human body, even a seemingly simulated version, runs at 37 degrees. That’s simply fact. But, Yusaku doesn’t touch people often. Only Kusanagi, and even then, not frequently, or for this long. He never lets anyone this close, certainly not close enough to feel the heat of their skin or notice—

Revolver doesn’t have any eyelashes. His avatar didn’t seem to blink. But if it doesn’t, do Revolver’s real eyes, possibly hidden under a pixelated façade, still need to? What happened if the connection between the world went haywire, and Revolver’s avatar glitched out?

Revolver stares at him. Yusaku stares right back. His mind is racing.

Why do both SOL and Hanoi want him _?_ Are they after the other five too? How does he and the other victims fit into any of this? Is the merge related to the Hanoi Project? How could it possibly be?

And what, exactly, is Hanoi planning to do with him?

“And what about you guys?” Yusaku asks, his voice slightly too steady. What does Revolver want out of all this? He went through the effort to seize Yusaku first, and to bring him back to their Headquarters. “Am I inconvenient to you too? Is that why you dragged me here?”

Strangely, despite the implications of that question, he doesn’t feel afraid at all. Even with his back against the wall, staring up at the face of the most successful cyber-terrorist of the era, it’s a completely different feeling than when he was surrounded.

Usually, Hanoi reeks on the edge of his senses, their presence unmistakable and rotten. But Revolver is different. Threatening, but not malignant.

Yusaku doesn’t understand it at all. He knows Revolver is the leader of his enemies, maybe even more; he could even be the mastermind behind the incident that ruined Yusaku’s whole life. But knowing something logically and _feeling_ it, instinctually, are very different experiences.

He has to remind himself that he hates this person. _W_ _hy_ he hates this person.

“Let me explain what I understand of the situation. One,” as he speaks, Revolver tenses before him, “SOL can’t be the ones behind the merge. When they came to retrieve me, they came in cars, all of which got wrecked by the new environment. Had they known in advance, they would have planned a better method for securing me.” This time, it is Yusaku who takes the step forward, small as it may be, leaving them far too close for comfort. Their bodies brush together, and Revolver seems to have stalled in place. “Two, you can’t be behind this either. Your avatar has no eyelashes or eyebrows, and doesn’t blink. That’s fine in a virtual world, but dangerous in a world that could shift back to reality anytime.” He brings a hand up to Revolver’s face, and Revolver watches it curiously. He settles it on the edges of Revolver’s mask, and gives it a hard, sudden jerk. The mask doesn’t so much as budge, Revolver’s whole head dragged forward with it, right into Yusaku’s shoulder. “Moreover, if this mask can’t be retracted or removed, you can’t eat. No one would design such an avatar if they knew they would have to change it when their plan unfolded.” Revolver pulls back slightly, wide-eyed. “Third, though you seem to think I’m involved, you clearly never suspected that I did it, and neither did SOL. All of this suggests that while both you and SOL have an idea of who is really responsible and how to fix it, you lack the means. And as you just implied, the method has something to do with me.” Yusaku takes a breath, feeling the burn of familiar anger in his veins. “And the incident ten years ago, I assume.”

Revolver takes a jerky step back, but Yusaku doesn’t stop. “What neither of you have given me is a _reason_ to assist you. Instead, you kidnap me, knowing full well why that might make me _uncooperative._ ”

Revolver looks down, his expression grave. “Our only goal is to fix this and hold the ones that did it responsible.”

Yusaku narrows his eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

Revolver has no answer, face still downturned. Slowly, he looks back up, gaze lingering on Yusaku’s hands. The palms of his hands are still scratched up, the skin shredded by that rough fall against the gravel of the street. His knees are probably in a similar state, under his uniform.

Revolver takes a breath and motions towards one of the rooms in the hallway. “Let's clean your hands first.”

* * *

Fujiki Yusaku is not at all what Ryoken expected. Knocked off-kilter, he goes through the motions of settling Yusaku into the bathroom of one of the rooms he had prepared for their expected guests. A first aid kit, a _real_ one, is dredged up from somewhere and laid out on the counter.

“Come here,” he tells Yusaku as he turns on the faucet of the sink and forces his gloves to unequip. Yusaku approaches him reluctantly, the same stubborn set to his jaw that startled Ryoken so much earlier.

Ignoring it, Ryoken extends his hand out expectantly, _again_ , but Yusaku is still and stiff. Ignoring how poorly that sits with him, Ryoken reaches out as slowly as he can manage to take Yusaku’s hands himself. Yusaku flinches slightly, his fingers twitching and curling as he tries to pull back, but Ryoken doesn’t let go until he's brought the first scraped hand under the running water. The dirt that isn't washed away he rubs off, gently as he can, until the scrapes are clean and beaded with fresh blood. While his touch makes gooseflesh spread over Yusaku's skin, the antiseptic doesn't so much as make him flinch.

A high pain tolerance, just like Spectre, carefully cultivated over six months of agonizing torture.

Ryoken doesn't have that kind of pain tolerance. He's never needed it.

With a tight throat, he tapes gauze to the scrapes. “Your knees?”

“Fine.”

Ryoken doesn't feel like he can fight him on that one. He’ll just have to hope that Yusaku will take care of them on his own when he feels comfortable enough.

This isn’t how he wanted things to go, even though there’s no clear image in his head of how their meeting was supposed to work out. After the moment in the hallway, Yusaku so impossibly close to him for the first time since that moment they crashed into one another, he doesn’t know what to say. He feels, suddenly, like he doesn't fit in his body.

And despite the strength gleaming in his eyes, Yusaku looks very tired. It’s reflected in his voice as he speaks again. “Tell me why I’m here.”

Ryoken does owe him some answers. But he can't give them now, at least not yet. He can only confirm what Yusaku impressively deduced on his own. “I'll explain better when we've found the others, but for now… yes, we do think the merge is related to the kidnapping incident that happened ten years ago.” Yusaku cannot know they were responsible for that. None of the victims can know, besides Spectre. There’s too high a likelihood that they’ll refuse to cooperate if they learn the truth. And then his father might do something they will all regret. “And we also suspect that you six may be the key to getting the world back to the way it was. But there’s no need to be afraid.” The last sentence is tacked on too hastily, and he wants to shut his mouth and take it back. But again, his mouth opens, and words fall out, slightly faltering. “Just...stay by my side. I won't let anyone hurt you.”

It’s a pathetic promise, and the worst part is, Ryoken means it. Even though he’s already a failure of a hero: a worthless knight that couldn’t protect anything at all, he finds that he is resolved to make each of those words true.

He’s so sick of regrets.

Yusaku’s eyes are on his face, judging him. His earlier words ring in Ryoken’s mind, and he finds himself suddenly self-conscious, far too aware of his avatar’s bizarre features. No wonder Yusaku looked at him like he was a freak when he first appeared, and of course he tried to run away. And the moment in the hallway, pinning Yusaku to the wall like that, couldn't have made much of a better impression. “I apologize for earlier. Did I scare you?”

The quiet that follows the question is damning. Ryoken wants to curse himself. So caught up in the moment, in his own frustrations and desire to be _understood_ by this person, he’d screwed up. He couldn’t even manage to do something so simple, but so important, right. He glares at his fingers, remembering how Yusaku had inched away from his touch, and wants slam them into something.

Eventually, a voice breaks the heavy silence. Yusaku shakes his head, just a little. “No. It’s just… your avatar is creepy.”

Though it's the answer he himself suspected, it feels wrong. But there's no place for him to push, and no desire to either. The truth or not, Ryoken will have to make some amendments regardless. Especially, as Yusaku had so helpfully pointed out, if he wanted to eat any time soon.


End file.
